Reverie
by Wide-Eyed For Pontmercy
Summary: A collection of dark, morbid one-shots. Very Leroux-based. Each chapter has a different theme, though most focus on insanity. Please review.
1. I Hadn't Meant to

Dearest, why are you looking at me like that? Your expressive eyes are wide with an emotion I cannot name. I wish you would speak to me. Your pure voice is so much easier to understand. Is something wrong?

It is so cold in here, your shaking shoulders seem to say. I understand, my home can be rather chilly. I leave you to retrieve a blanket. You can't be cold with me here. I place the blanket around your shoulders. You gasp and close your eyes. Your emotional response moves me. I could almost weep again. I never imagined my touch would have such a positive effect on you. Regretfully, I step away.

That is when I notice the spots on the blanket. Right were my hands had been. Dark spots. When had that blanket gotten dirty? Dirty things are not allowed. I remove the blanket and retrieve another. I place it on your shoulders again. You bit your lips when I touch you this time. If I could, I would smile. I walk back to inspect the blanket again. More dark stains! You see me looking at the spots on the blanket. Your large eyes are questioning. Surely you would understand my urges for perfection? I step towards you again, to dispatch the displeasing blanket. You back away. I understand the look in your eyes now. It was not love.

Dearest, why can't you love me? I walk towards you again. You began to pant and struggle to turn away. You trip. I make a move to catch you, and you fall to the floor. What did you trip on? Oh...that.

You scream. The sound breaks me and I begin to weep again. You stare at the floor in horror. The stains on the blanket, which is still wrapped around your shoulders, begins to drive me mad. I walk towards you again. You remain frozen, staring at the lump on the floor. You look up at me, your eyes burning. I know that look. My tears come faster and faster. I had not intended for it to be this way!

You begin to hiss at me, tears falling down your lovely face. Please, don't cry! I hadn't meant to! But the stains on your blanket have made me wild. In one frantic step, blindly moving through my tears, I snatch the blanket off. You cower away, protectively leaning on the lump. I throw the tainted blanket to the floor. The dark stains spread when I make contact with the material. I look down at my hands. They are covered in the dark color that ruined my blankets. I look to you. The blankets' stains have leaked onto your white dress, turning it a dull shade of crimson. Oh Christine. Your eyes are wild. Suddenly, you begin to smile. I cease crying. Do you love me now? You run over to a table behind me, faster then lightning. Then you dash back to the floor, next to the lump. Before I can stop you, I see the object you took from the table. A shining knife. I remain frozen while you swiftly bring the blade up and slash your throat. More crimson stains your dress. It is no longer white. You fall on top of the lump. Your rich hair blends into the shades of gold that the lump has. Your blood spills to the floor. I run to you. Are you still there? I fall to my knees. I take the knife from your hands. You are still warm. I raise it to my throat and look at you. You are face down. I want to kiss your forehead, your smooth, unblemished forehead. But that would be taking a liberty. I want to turn you over. But I don't. You will rest on top of the boy for the rest of eternity. I take your hand into mine, then crawl away from you. I raise the blade to my throat. Oh Christine.

I had never meant for this to happen.


	2. A Bit of Whiskey

" A bit of lace is caught in your hair. Here, let me get it."

"Don't!"

"My love, why are you turning from me?"

"Because your hands are always so cold, and I'm warm, silly!"

"Christine, calm down.....There you go, see it's all right."

"It's all right...."

"Good girl. Now, won't you let me get that lace out of your pretty gold hair?...............Yes, there's a good girl. Now, it's almost time for bed. I'll go get Nanny to help you with your nightgown."

"Could you sing for me?"

"You know I don't sing anymore."

"Please? If you won't sing, then play me something on an instrument!"

"I don't play any instruments, darling."

"Yes, yes you do! You play organ and piano and-"

"Hush, dear. You need to go to bed and sleep."

"But.....But you always used to sing to me. And you said you would do anything for me! You sat at my feet and cried for me to love you!"

"I know, I know."

"And I love you! I came back for you! I left my dear Raoul for you! And all I ask is that you provide me with a bit of music, in exchange for living underground, and you won't even do that?!"

"Darling, we can talk about it in the morning. Things will be better in the morning. Perhaps we could go for a walk in the bright sunshine right after the sunrise tomorrow?"

"Well, that would be wonderful. I haven't seen the sun in quite awhile. Then, after our walk, would you sing for me?"

"If you're a good girl. Look, there's Nanny, ready to take you up to bed. Goodnight and sweet dreams."

"Would you kiss me goodnight?"

"Not tonight, sweetest."

"But I'm your wife!"

"Your my beautiful, talent and TIRED wife. You should go to your bed and get a good sleep so you have plenty of energy for our walk. Then, afterward, I'll sing to you and you'll sing to me."

"Alright, that is fair. I apologize for my behavior, I am overtired. Goodnight, my sweet Angel of Music."

"You rascal, I thought you were going to be a good girl!"

"It was just a little kiss, Erik. I'm going with Nanny now....Goodnight!"

"I'll see you in the morning, my love."

Christine left the dim parlor and dutifully followed Nanny up to the stairs to her bedroom. Her husband got up from the padded armchair in front of the fireplace and watched them go. Christine's slim frame contrasted so much to Nanny's bulky profile. Christine's curls fell down her back, gold streaked with gray. Difficult situations had aged her beyond her years, both mentally and physically. Once they were out of sight, he walked over to a table in the corner and poured himself a large glass of whiskey. He didn't want to think about the next day since he had promised Christine that he would take her out for a walk and sing for her. They were promises he wouldn't be able to keep. Whiskey in hand, he returned to his seat in front of the fireplace. Above the fireplace was a painting of Christine in her glory days, when she looked as if she walked on air. She had overcome all her terrors, and her confident smile revealed her peace of mind.  
Her husband hadn't conquered his own fears. He continued to look at the painting. God, he loved her so much, even after all this time. She was the poor Angel. He drained the whiskey. He tore his eyes away from the painting and got up to refill his deep glass. He was already becoming drunk. It was a wonderful sensation. He wondered how he would break it to Christine that they wouldn't be going outside, or that he wouldn't sing to her. Raoul toasted himself, then drank. It was going to be a long night.


	3. Almost There

All I want is an ounce of peace. To be able to go to sleep at night knowing that I will wake up with Christine by my side. Is that so much to ask for? To know that my wife loves me? Ah, here she comes right now. Her golden hair is glinting in the sunlight, her blue eyes shining. She is smiling. Christine opens her mouth and sings. I weep at every pure note her voice produces. The sound gives me chills, and I shake at the dulcet tones of her song. Christine comes to me, she wipes my tears. She knows the effects her voice brings out in me. Why, her voice does that to everyone.

She sits with me. We are in the garden farthest from the manor. It is cool and the sun is bright and shining, a wondrous fall day. The trees that arch above us cast shadows over Christine's angelic features. She takes my hands into her own. The sun shines through her. I can almost feel her cool skin quiver against my own. I must be only imagining that she is shaking. She has to love me. Why would she sit with me here, enjoying the silence in the garden? She is a good wife. The most perfect of woman. I lean over and kiss her soft cheek.

"I love you." I whisper in her ear. She sweetly miles and sighs. Then she gently pulls her hands from my own. "Christine, come back! The day is young, dear." I softly call. She grins, a most mischievous sight, and gaily skips away. "Christine!" I shout, and get up. She playfully leads me on a chase. Christine and I always play games together, so this is nothing new. Our relationship is lively, we preserve our youth with these games. She has led me past the garden, past the forest, to a lone green meadow filled with elegant trees. They cast a dappled light over the flower-filled meadow. Christine ran again, past my sight. She is winning our game of chase. "Christine, darling, I'm growing tired. Perhaps we can play again tomorrow? Let's go back home."

My voice echoes around emptily. Christine is no where to be found. I continue to walk forward. Every now and then, I imagine I hear voices frantically shouting. But it's easy to imagine things in the meadow. I shake my head and continue searching for my love. Soon, I glimpse a sight of Christine hiding behind a tree, her gold hair merrily winking in the sun. "Ah ha!" I shout, and begin to run. I'm so near to catching her! To winning our game! I race through the meadow, faster then the wind.

Suddenly, I'm falling. When I'm at last still on the ground, I shakily raise myself up until I'm standing. What did I trip over? Then I see it. Tall, cold and imposing. The perfect hiding place. Slowly I walk towards it. She can't be hiding there, can she?

I reach it, and with shaking hands, touch it. Smooth stone, marble, with carved roses. "_Here lies Comtess Christine De Chagny, beloved wife and friend to all" _

It can't be true! I just saw Christine with my own two eyes! We were playing chase! I fall to my knees. I can no longer see, my vision is ruined with tears. "Christine! Christine!!" I cry. Sobs rack my body as I cower in front of the tombstone. The sun seems to grow dimmer. Every now and then, I see her glimmer of gold hair and I hear her high laugh. I fall to my face.

"Raoul, return to me!" I hear at last. Christine's voice, charming as ever. I raise myself to my knees and see her in all her glory, resplendent in the light of the fading sun.

"Christine!" I scream. Still, she remains in front of me, her pale arms outstretched. She is not dead! The piercing shouts I had heard earlier seem closer, and I try to not let them affect my joy at seeing Christine again.

"Raoul, please, we don't have much time!" Christine says, growing frantic.

"But how, my love? How can I return to you?" I ask, growing frantic myself. What if she decided to play chase again? She gracefully gestures to my side. I look down and see the small revolver belted to my trim waist. I had forgotten about it's presence. I look up to see that Christine vanished. "No! No, no, no, no! Christine!" I begin to stutter and scream. The sun has nearly sank from the sky. The air is cold, and I am alone. I slowly unfasten the gun from my belt. It is solid and heavy in my hands. Real. I have never seen a more beguiling sight, nor felt so tempted. I bring the muzzle up to my mouth and caress the cool steel.

The shouts I had heard before have sound even louder. I figure they are close to whatever they are looking for. And yet, even with the noise disturbing me, I feel at peace. Sitting in the dewy grass in front of Christine's grave and stroking the gun has brought me to peace. I know how to finally reach Christine. We'll be together, uninterrupted at last.

I stand. The shouts grow closer. I close my eyes. "Christine, darling. I'm coming." I softly murmur. I slowly raise the gun and open my mouth.

"There he is! Monsieur le Comte! Monsieur le Comte!" The shouts have grown deafening. I won't be distracted! I'm so near Christine I can almost smell her sweet breath! Suddenly, I fell myself being thrown into the air. No! I'm so close! I pull the trigger. Blistering pain erupts into my right leg. I hear Christine's voice call out, and it quickly grows farther and farther away.

"Christine! No!" I scream as I crash to the ground. The pain burns me. Christine has grown silent. Heavy hands take the revolver away from me. Everything goes black.

I wake. A man says, "We were lucky to find him just in time. His leg shall heal, he'll be as good as ever soon, right, Doctor?"

Another man replies, "Yes, the Comte shall be restored to full physical health son. But his mental health is quite distorted. He will need to have his hands bound until he stops trying to commit suicide. Any and all items that can be made into weapons must be withdrawn from his use. As this is not his first suicide attempt, I am requesting that the colors gold, blue and cream must be taken from his vision, so please refurnish his room. Those colors seem to set him off."

A woman timidly speaks up, "His wife's hair was gold, her eyes blue and her skin was creamy white."

The same man as before says, "Ah, well, that makes sense....Let us tie his hands up now, he seems to have awakened while we chatted."

I still feel the burning pain in my leg. But now I also feel my hands tied to the sides of my bed. The large bed Christine and I had shared as husband and wife has vanished, now I lie in a cot barely wide enough for me to lay on my back. I open my eyes.

Christine's face stares down at me. She looks so sad. I've failed her. When my eyes rove around my room, all I see is white. Every color has disappeared. My room is so cold. I remember the dappled light of the garden, of the meadow. I remember Christine's voice. But mostly, I remember the feeling of the blood pouring out of my leg when I pulled the trigger. I had been so close to Christine that I had smelled her. I now know what I have to do to return to her. More blood must fall. I shall try again, and this time I shan't fail.


End file.
